


Alphas

by Ren



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-05
Updated: 2013-07-05
Packaged: 2017-12-17 19:58:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/871404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ren/pseuds/Ren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire is in a new city and sitting alone at a bar with his fifth glass of booze in front of him, and a pack of fucking werewolves just walked through the door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alphas

Alphas. Grantaire snorts at the thought. Overconfident bastards, the lot of them. Like the one who turned Grantaire, years ago, when he was still naïve enough to believe that being turned into a snarling beast was a good thing, something to desire. Too young to realize that the bite is a fucking curse.

He smells the pack when they come in. It's not something he's particularly happy about, the enhanced sense of smell and hearing. It was cool at first, for maybe a week or so, until he realized he couldn't fucking turn it off and would be forced to process a lot of unwanted information about his surroundings for the rest of his life. Thanks for nothing, super werewolf senses.

Sometimes it's helpful, though, and tonight might be one of those times. Because he's in a new city and sitting alone at a bar with his fifth glass of booze in front of him, and a pack of fucking werewolves just walked through the door.

Grantaire tenses, curling his hands into fists to stop the claws coming out on instinct. Running is pointless, they already smelled him when they came in, but if they want to fight, well. Grantaire might be an omega, but he's not going to go down without a fight.

Some wolves think that being an omega means he's a coward. A reject. Not wanted even by his own pack. The truth is that Grantaire doesn't give a fuck about all that alpha/beta bullshit. He believed in science, okay? He wasn't very good at it in school, but he believed in all that crap about logic and rational thinking. And then it turned out that werewolves exist, like, for real, in the real world, so much for rationality.

But the idea that an alpha is inherently better than the betas in his pack, no, he doesn't accept that. He refuses to bow his head and be bossed around by some fucker who just happened to be a werewolf for longer than him. Grantaire told as much to his alpha, a couple of months after being turned, along with some choice words about how he could shove his gift of the bite up his furry arse. The reply still rings in his ears. _Obey me as my beta or kill me to take my place as the alpha._ Grantaire took the third option and still smirks at the thought of his (former) alpha's face when he'd left.

The other pack doesn't look like they're about to attack him, so Grantaire takes a large gulp of his drink. He relishes the burn down his throat, even though a barrel of the stuff couldn't make him drunk now. Of all the fucking things that the bite took away, his capacity to get shitfaced is the one Grantaire mourns daily.

One of the strangers, a blond kid, is staring at him. Grantaire notices, so he raises his half-empty glass in a mock salute: no point in being unfriendly and ignoring each other, since they're probably going to attack him as soon as he steps out of the bar. The kid just glares. He's pretty, Grantaire notices, with dark blue eyes and cheekbones that look as though they could cut glass. He's wearing the traditional black leather jacket of werewolf badassery, of course, which covers part of the slogan on his red t-shirt.

No doubt the kid is trying to impress his fellow werewolves by staring down the stranger omega who just walked into their bar, but if so it's not working. Grantaire's eyes stay on the kid's face for the longest time. He doesn't know if this is a staring contest or if he can't look away because the other is too pretty. Either option is fine.

A man with sandy hair and glasses places a hand on the blond's shoulder and whispers, "Enjolras," though of course it's loud enough for Grantaire's freaky wolf ears to pick up. The blond turns his head to reply and breaks his stare. Grantaire snorts at that and wonders if that was Enjolras's alpha calling his beta to order, four-eyes does have the mature and responsible look. Or maybe the alpha is the obvious one, the tall tanned one who hides his eyes under a cap and is talking and laughing loudest of them all.

It doesn't matter who the alpha is, really, in the great circle of things. Grantaire tosses back the last of his drink, places a couple of bills on the bar to settle his tab and gets up, walking to the door with his hands fisted in his pockets. He can feel their eyes on the back of his head as he leaves.

Grantaire ducks into the first deserted alley he can find outside the bar, leans against the dirty brick wall, lights a cigarette and waits. No point in hiding from a pack who can smell him, so he hopes they'll be quick about it. He's not disappointed. He's barely taken a pull from his cigarette when Enjolras steps into the alley.

"Where's the rest of the pack?" he asks, lips curling into a smirk. "Please tell me you're not going to fight me on your own."

"What makes you think I plan on fighting?" Enjolras replies. His voice is low but carries across the alley easily, and somehow it sends a shiver down Grantaire's spine.

Grantaire takes another pull to cover his confusion, blowing smoke into the cool night air. "Because that's what packs like to do to omegas," he says with a shrug. "Or at least they try." He stares at Enjolras, hard and unflinching and making damn well sure that the other wolf knows that Grantaire won't go down without a fight.

Enjolras doesn't seem much impressed. "You're the first omega I've ever come across in this city," he says, in that voice that does _things_ to Grantaire's insides.

"Yeah, well." He blows another shaky cloud of smoke. "If it was up to me, you still wouldn't have met any. I'm not a great fan of my fellow werewolves, what with the beating-the-living-daylights-out-of-omegas policy that they have."

The kid scowls at him. "My pack doesn't have any such policy," he says, like he's offended that Grantaire even suggested the idea. Bless his pretty little curly head.

"Your alpha might think differently," Grantaire says.

"My alpha," Enjolras repeats.

Grantaire rolls his eyes. "Listen, you look like maybe you've just been turned and don't know how this shit works, so here's the cliff notes version." He tosses his cigarette away and stomps it under the heel of his combat boots. "Your alpha calls the shots, so he's gonna be first in line to use me as a punching bag to show everyone that he's the biggest baddest wolf around. You, the dutiful beta, either join the fight or watch and laugh as your mates rough me up. I, the hapless omega, I'm going to give back as many punches as I can, and then I'm going to apologize for intruding in your territory, and then I'm going to find another bar." Or possibly another city.

Enjolras doesn't say anything while Grantaire is speaking, just stares at him with those unnerving blue eyes. "You seem to be very sure that that's how it's going to be," he says eventually.

Grantaire just shrugs, because that's how it's always been and how it will always be. Because that's how fucking alphas and werewolf packs work. "Just go call your alpha already," he says.

The next thing Grantaire knows is that he's pinned against the wall and his feet aren't touching the pavement. Enjolras has got one hand wrapped around Grantaire's throat and his extended claws are scraping at the sensitive skin there; his grip isn't strong enough to hurt but it feels as if it would if only Enjolras wanted to.

Grantaire takes a choked breath, baring his fangs at Enjolras who doesn't even flinch, just stares at Grantaire with red eyes. "I'm the alpha," he snarls.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know how but the subject of a Teen Wolf AU came up and I said that Enjolras is the prettiest alpha. Then I spouted a bunch of headcanons for said AU, because that's what I do. Enjolras comes from a werewolf family. Jean Valjean is a werewolf hunter (giving new meaning to that stolen silver) and raised Cosette as his badass werewolf-hunting daughter, which makes it awkward when Marius is turned. Javert is the poor confused policeman who keeps dealing with mysterious animal deaths. This is set in France because Gévaudan. Oh, and I'm not going to write any of this, I just had to get this out of my system because the thought of Enjolras saying "I'm the alpha" does things to me.


End file.
